59 Seconds
by Ella's-Knocking
Summary: In the remaining time left on an active bomb, Alfred and Arthur rethink their days. And I guess the other guys do too, but really, you don't care about those people's unknown wives/husbands and children. You care about the hero and his accomplice. Rated M, just in case.
1. Course He Didn't Gag

**A/N: So. Hi. This is going to be my first story ever on the site. I'm excited to start it. ^^ I hope I'm able to reach the ending of it (many don't end their stories and it's such a pain when the story is _amazing_) for your sanity and my own. Er... This'll be a quick chapter. Enjoy.**

**-_Knocking _**

**Warning(s): …Erm, nothing really for this chapter. I mean there's blood, if that bothers you. Minor swearing. Homosexual undertones? I mean nobody is trying to eat anybody else's face off with epic tongue action and a light show to boot if that's what's got you clammed up... Maybe you should make like a ball and bounce if any of that bothers you.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia~**

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'Course He Didn't Gag

_Trust me_, he'd said.

You retch up thick reddened bile as your dirty blonde locks of hair are grabbed and yanked at. The jerking action only causes the disgusting mesh of puke and blood to get on your already ruined tux. Your glasses are sitting uselessly on the dirtied tile of the floor in a pitiful heap of shattered glass and broken frames, adorning red splats of what most certainly is your blood. They were broken and beyond useful in this situation, much like your dignity. You'd already given a go at the whole 'begging for mercy' thing. Didn't stop the blows or the intense pain. These guys weren't even doing the monologue bullshit you had grown so use to.

Why are you in a business meeting room, getting your ass handed to you by a bunch of creeps in out of style pin striped suits? Your eyes fix upon the answer. He doesn't bother meeting your accusing gaze; most likely too busy counting the cash in his hands to feel guilty about all this. You'd given up on shouting at him, and you were starting to be somewhat glad he refused to look at you. You looked like you were beaten within an inch of your life. You'd actually cried at some point. Probably still are, considering your face feels slick and you can't see through a haze of foggy film. Or maybe they hit you so hard you're going blind. You wouldn't be surprised.

"What'd they give ya for me, eh Artie? Millions, right? No, billions. Any less and I'd be disappointed in you." Even now, with loose teeth and blurred vision… Snapped bones and a bleeding nose... You feel the need to joke around. Briefly, you see stars; the blow that connected with your jaw was far too fast for you to know whether it was a backhand or a punch of some sort. Your head is still reeling when you feel your chin grasped and tilted upward. Your eyes begin to focus for pained blue to meet apathetic lavender, and your attacker grimaces as if this is all a waste of his precious time. Do these guys have lives? You always thought that they just sort of waited around in back alleys waiting to jump defenseless women and school children.

"Where is the bomb, you American pig?"

Your attacker's breath is rank—caustic, really. Its enough to make your stomach churn. You laugh, despite the urge to hack up the rest of your lunch- earlier you'd vomited a portion of it. "Listen man, I have a stick in my left pocket… If I throw it, will you fetch?" Such words were unsurprisingly met with a fist to the gut. You coughed out a spray of maroon that hit the polished floor, and more of the goons approached. Your vision was clouding even more so, but you could still see your partner.

The traitor.

His name was Arthur… Arthur Kirkland. You'd trusted him with your very life. Your secrets and dreams... Nightmares, too. And he'd gone and done this. Sure, you weren't exactly in the kind of business where you should be trusting _anybody, _but he was different. Or at least, you'd been pretty sure he was. And just as you thought that he looked at you. Truly looked at you. And even now, being beat up by middle aged men and choking on your own blood… Your heart sped. You hated and pitied yourself in that moment.

"Tell them where the bomb is, Alfred." That was the first thing he'd said all night. Or rather, the first thing he'd said to _you_ specifically. Your chest tightened. "Artie, baby_,_ I was beginning to think you didn't love me anymore! Thanks for acknowledging my existence, it's a real joy." You laugh, and it hurts. In more ways than one. Still, you're glad to see him stiffen. Glad to see his adam's apple quiver, if only briefly. "Where did you put the bomb?" He repeats just as coolly. Just as calmly. You'd always admired that trait he had… Staying calm and collected under pressure. It had saved your ass more than once. However, right now all it does is inflate the scarring feel of betrayal. God, he and you had been nearly there. _Nearly there! _The city… No, the entire nation! Then the world… Yeah. The two of you would've owned it.

_Together._

You inhale breaths that shake and wrack your worn body, and that word imprints in your mind. You'd been willing to share everything with him, which was remarkable considering you didn't even share your breathing space with some people.

"I swallowed it."


	2. Troubled Dice

**A/N: Yo. Another chapter~ Don't have much to say this time. Arthur's POV. It's a little bit disjointed.**

**-_Knocking_**

**Warnings: Er... Mention of a hooker, if that... Counts as a warning? If that bothers you though, make like a ball and bounce. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia. If I did, I'd be getting PAID -looks at empty scholarship fund for pet cat-. Alas, I'll just have to be content with reviews. ^^**

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Troubled Dice

Run.

That's the only thought that should come to mind—That a boy.

_Run._

Arthur felt sweat trickle down his neck as his worn Nike sneakers slapped against the pavement of some nameless back street. Every step was like a screeching alarm, giving away his position to his pursuers. The air was thick with diseases, and his lungs ached from the lack of true oxygen.

_Run, though._

That's all he could think. All he should ever think.

He'd been doing this for half an hour. Maybe longer. He could feel the cramping of his endurance running dry. The screeching of tires and the reek of burning rubber snapped him from his inner voice's motivational monologue to run, and that cramping he felt? It only worsened as he pushed himself to move faster. Hide. He had to hide. This was just another Monday. He could do this.

Hop the fence.

_That a boy._

Even as he landed funny on one of his feet, he pushed off and continued. Had to keep up the pace. Couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe. Air. What air? His badge beneath his baggy t-shirt smacked against his chest as he skidded to a stop near the opening of what appeared to be a street, and it would've hurt were it not for the adrenaline pumping through his pulsating veins. His breath came out in heaves as his legs were given the time to rest. The lack of movement only further worsened his ability to keep running, however. The pain was setting in.

He didn't think anyone was still following him, but he doubted waiting for confirmation on his own theory would be a brilliant idea. He does this often, I'm sure you've deduced. Running has become something of a talent of his. It's what promoted him. But that's… That's a different story altogether. He didn't fully pull from his weary haze until the sound of honking filled the night. He'd have thought it were another one of the buffoons who'd caught on to him, were it not for the abnormal depictions of… Were those superhero stickers? Yes. _Superhero stickers,_ on the passenger side door.

Relax, Arthur.

_That a boy._

Arthur wasn't one to trust. He was one, however, to take handouts when they were being freely given. Lord knows he needed them. And so he didn't hesitate to rush over to the unremarkable car. The .44 tucked snuggly in his waistband assured him he'd be fine, anyhow. When the window came down and the smell of stale cigarettes along with the contradicting aroma of citrus rolled out in a little ball of funk, that's when he saw him.

_Him._

Well. They didn't know each other yet, so stressing that actually doesn't make much sense does it? Better to say what he saw was a young man with lively blue eyes peering out of a haze of smoke. Funny. One wouldn't think a snake to have such a tranquil vibe.

"In trouble?"

He'd asked something ridiculous like that. It elicited a groan. Maybe Arthur even scowled at him. He hadn't answered. He was sure of that much. He'd merely opened the passenger door for himself and slid into the seat. Black suede. The air conditioner had been busted. He recalled that more clearly than he did anything else, looking back on it.

They hadn't spoken beyond that. The stranger merely drove, allowing the sound of profane rap to fill the void of silence. The rhymes bounced off of the smaller male's cold exterior, and he didn't catch much meaning within it all. Or perhaps cold isn't a good word for it… Hot. He was hot. Slick with sweat, and heart thumping in his throat. The heat was unbearable.

The car may as well have been on fire.

"What's your name?"

Yes. He'd asked that. Snake eyes swirling with nothing but curiosity and maybe… Maybe something else. Why did Arthur see him as a snake? Ah. Probably because anyone willing to pick up trash off the street was… Well. Usually, a snake. He didn't feel much like a rat, however, despite that thought. The gun in his waistband reminded him of that.

"Arthur."

"_Arthur." _

It was a mocking purr, really. A polished hiss, forked tongue flicking. And the smell of citrus… That was everywhere too. Suffocating. He was suffocating in the stench.

"Bit rank in here, mate."

The snake smiled, maybe. Yes. Maybe. Arthur wouldn't know. He no longer intended to look at him—that pull he had to his eyes was bothersome. He didn't need that kind of trouble, right then. Didn't want it, either.

"Oh, right. Sorry. There's a dead hooker in the trunk."

A pause.

"Kidding. No way a body would fit back there."

Arthur would've choked on air, had he any in his system to waste.

"...God. How absolutely refined. Cigarettes and oranges. Quite the charmer you are.. How do you manage to keep your door up? Women _must_ be trying to beat it down as we speak."

The snake laughed.

The burning cigarette in the ash tray coughed a plume of smoke.

Why wasn't he smoking it? The stranger didn't seem inclined to do so anytime soon. Yet another thing Arthur didn't bother asking about it. The .44 in his waistband once again, reassured him.

That a boy, Arthur.

_Relax._

"You're funny. I like that."

"So glad I've earned the approval of a stranger."

Perhaps, for a moment, the Brit was tempted to chuckle.

He didn't.

"What is your name, anyhow?"

"Wouldn't you prefer to ask where I'm dropping you off, _mate_?"

The counter was a logical (though crass) one. Arthur paused.

Thought.

"Can't I ask both simultaneously?"

There was that laugh again, obnoxious and bright. A contradiction to that stale stench, and the sinister undertones coming off him in waves. How easy it was to spot he was indeed, something terrible.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the seat.

"Is this good?"

When had the car stopped? No, a better question would be, why in the bleeding fuck the snake thought Arthur would want to get out on another abandoned street. He needed streetlights. People nearby.

_Safety._

Of course he couldn't voice all of that, now could he? He'd already gotten a free ride to.. 58th street, apparently.

And so, he grunted.

_Get out of the car, Arthur._

And he did.

"Cheers for the ride."

He said, though his tone lacked any true gratefulness. And perhaps the snake was satisfied with that, because when Arthur peered back at him over his shoulder, he had something of a lop-sided grin on. Lazy and amused.

"Pleasure was all mine, _Arthur._"

And there that mocking purr was again.

Albeit odd, the man had in fact given him a ride... So for that he silently gave proper thanks.

The feeling of suede stayed on his fingertips the entirety of his walk, with the repulsive stench of citrus and nicotine lingering within his nostrils.


End file.
